Game Over
by ofalexandra
Summary: AU. One-shot. Welcome to The Deck, where you can always change the cards you draw. SasuSaku.


Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Naruto was mine, but he got stolen somewhere between the Gulf of Neverland and Mordor, then eaten by a Humpback Whale, and landed with Masashi Kishimoto.

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She sees him from across the bar, and she likes to think that she is not afraid. She approaches with bold steps _(that are slowly but surely faltering ever so slightly)_ and reminds herself of her duty to her race and her home and her country and all that she has left and she tries not to let her mind wander to her task ahead.

The strobe lights are blinding and the music is booming and she walks up him and demands to see his King. He signals his lackeys back and he stands up, his elegance so natural she thinks he was born with a tint of royalty in him and then he speaks. He doesn't ask who she is, because her earring tells him she is the Jack of Hearts, so he asks for her name.

_Sakura_, she tells him, and she prays she hasn't already given away too much. _Aaa_, is his reply, and his mouth twists up in the semblance of a smile _(sardonic, yes, but she really wishes he would smile more because it makes him so much prettier)_ and tells her that they've been waiting for her.

She sees no sign of his insignia of rank on him, and she bites her lips in uncertainty. He notes this, notes the way her pearly-whites bite down ever-so-slightly on her rosy lips, notes the way she shoots him furtive glances as she waits for his next action.

Something about him seems so familiar, so – _bloodredswirlingreptilian; don't leave, please don't leave_ – right, but these thoughts are far from her mind when he asks her for the message. She startles _(she never used to be so easily startled)_, and maybe even falters slightly, but then she musters her courage, her voice, and tells him, as politely as she can, that her message is only intended for _The King_.

His lips _(beautiful, she thinks, absolutely beautiful)_ twist into a slight sneer at her halting words, and he snaps his fingers. The club is silenced, then emptied, and she marvels at his power, but before she can register what is happening, he has her pinned against the wall at the far side of the room.

_And what, I wonder, does the Jack of Hearts want with the King?_ His face is centimeters from hers. She can feel his breath on her cheek, and her heart flutters. He leans in to trace the shell of her ear with his tongue, and her breath catches.

He strokes her cheek with his pianist's hands, tanned skin juxtaposed against her white. His hand covers her eyes. She gasps. His mouth moves to place butterfly kisses on her neck, and she sighs, sighs in contentment and desire and want and _this feels so right, why does it feel so right?_

He sinks his fangs into her neck, and she screams. Her mind whirls – _no, this is wrong, the King, the King, I am here for the King! For country for family for dreams for peace_ – he is done.

She vaguely recalls her mother telling her, a long, long time ago, in a place she can no longer remember, in a land far, far away, that _the Spades are Not Human._ Monsters. Demons. The Devil. _Diablo_.

She makes to struggle, but he releases her before she manages to. He strides away, strides to the bar where she first sighted him minutes ago _(minutes, was it only mere minutes? A lifetime could have passed)_. She heals the wound _(lovebite, really, because that's what it is)_ on her neck, and he approaches her again, with his deadly, graceful gait, glass of blood in hand.

No words pass between them, and he watches her. Minutes pass, and he lifts his glass to his lips. She notices the Mark.

_The King, The King, I am here for The King._

_You are mine now,_ he tells her, and she, she can only stare.

She is a prize, a gift, a spoil of the long and bloody battle between the Hearts and Spades. The Hearts lost _(lost in Spades, she thinks, and laughs bitterly to herself)._ She is an appeasement, the ticket to the Hearts' survival in The Deck. She is their sacrifice.

She stares at him, stares at his unforgiving _(cruel, maybe, she thinks, as his profile is thrown against the light) _beauty, and he gestures her towards a doorway, shrouded in darkness and the unknown. She is here now, with the King. He steps through, and she –

She follows.

She feels her Heart die.

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A/N: Trying out a new 'verse! Might add a few more One Shots to this verse, depending on how much creative juice I have left. Still, do review and let me know what you think!


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